The Way to America in 1923: An Emigrant's Account

THE WAY TO AMERICA IN 1923:
A N EMIGRANT'S ACCOUNT
. ALFRED SETTERLIND
T r a n s l a t e d by
AINA BERGMAN BARTON
Sweden remained neutral during World War I, but its economy
was badly shaken by the European conflict and recovered only
slowly during the early 1920s. Hard times, combined with the end
of wartime obstacles, resulted once again in rising emigration to
America, which peaked sharply in 1923. In retrospect, the 24,948
Swedes who crossed the Atlantic that year comprised the last great
wave of Swedish emigration. Already the following year the
American quota system marked the end of an era.
Among those who made the great journey in 1923 was a young
chemical engineer, Alfred Setterlind, born in Gothenburg in 1895
and trained at the Chalmers Technical Institute. Finding opportuni­ties
limited at home, he went out to Starbuck, Minnesota, where
his eldest brother was living. Soon after he moved to Chicago
where he was employed by the Department of Health to deal with
problems of air pollution. There he died in 1967.
Alfred sent the letter that follows to his favorite sister, Olivia
("Vivi") in Gothenburg, from Starbuck on 11 June 1923, and it is of
particular interest regarding circumstances at the very end of the
Great Migration. Curiously, although that phase lies closest to us in
time and while there are those still living who shared the
experiences Setterlind described, it now seems generally less
familiar to us than Swedish emigration in earlier periods, particu­larly
during the almost legendary sailing-ship era.
It is noteworthy that Alfred, like most Swedish emigrants in his
time, sailed directly from Gothenburg to New York with the
Swedish America Line, which was established in 1915, rather than
via England, as formerly, and traveled in decent, even if rather
Spartan comfort. He gives a particularly detailed description of
travel accommodations by sea and rail, as well as of what he calls
the "baptism of fire" at Ellis Island.
198
Of equal interest at least are the attitudes Alfred's letter reveals,
which were surely characteristic for this last great wave of Swedish
emigrants. As a group they were better educated than their
predecessors, and Alfred was of course exceptional in this regard.
They were also a good deal more wordly-wise and liked to consider
themselves well familiar with America—not only through relatives
and friends, newspapers, magazines, and books, but also through
motion pictures—before they set forth across the Atlantic. They
regarded themselves as hard-headed realists, without illusions,
well aware that one could not "cut gold with a whittling knife" in
America, but still eager to seek better opportunities, while
often—perhaps most often—expecting some day to return home, as
many of them eventually did. The majority, like Alfred, would
nonetheless stay on and make new lives in the new land. Alfred's
letter meanwhile reflects something of the racy and blase literary
style of the 1920s.
We are indebted to Alfred's son, the eminent Swedish poet and
novelist Bo Setterlind of Strängnäs, for providing us with this
interesting letter, background details, and photographs.
[ED.]
I am now at last in Starbuck, as of three days ago, and I'm " a l l
right." Will now, as best I can, tell a bit about the journey; all I can
call to mind. You see, I did not get around to keeping a diary on
board, as there was either so much noise and commotion when the
weather was good that it was hard to think, or else the sea was so
choppy that it was hard to write.
Well, the weather, if I should start with that, was calm and
peaceful at the beginning of the journey. My brothers and sisters,
Charlotte, and some other relatives came down to the ship with
good things to eat and greetings in " p l e n t y . " The band played
"Vårt land ' ["'Our Land"]—ironic, don't you think?' And we
waved farewell to each other for half an hour, until the ship was out
of sight.
How did it feel to leave the old country? Well, it felt about the
same as if I had gone to Alingsås! Eight days was not an eternity to
travel and I thought if I didn't like it I'd return. Furthermore, in a
few years we will surely have regular airplane traffic between
Gothenburg and N. Y .
199
Well, I found my cabin, a small cubbyhole in the bow of the ship,
hardly bigger than a medium-sized clothes closet. In it were four
bunks, one above the other on each side, and between them a sink
like the ones on our Swedish sleeping cars. It was so narrow
between them that one of my cabinmates, who was broad-shouldered,
had to go in sideways, and no more than one at a time
could dress himself in the mornings. Well, I thought, the less space,
the better the fellowship, and hurried up on deck to have a last
glimpse of my native land as it disappeared out of sight.
I can't help it that it was with a certain feeling of relief, mixed
with bitterness, that I saw the last of the country that had caused
me so much disappointment. Although I had not harbored any
great sympathy for the U.S.A., and by no means have any greater
expectations of success here, still I know I can find work here if I
want to, which I can't do in Sweden. And it certainly is strange that
a country as large as Sweden, and with such rich natural resources,
is unable to feed a mere seven million people. She ought to realize
that she can't afford to lose 24 thousand of her best people every
year. Most of the people on board were around 20 to 30 years old,
strong and energetic folk from all the provinces of Sweden. Also
Alfred S e t t e r l i n d s h o r t l y before d e p a r t i n g for A m e r i c a in 1 9 2 3.
( C o u r t e s y of Bo Setterlind, Strängnäs.)
200
quite a few Swedish Americans who had been home visiting but
were now returning. Their opinion was also that right now it is
completely impossible to live in Sweden unless you have income
from investments and the like.
I decorated the cabin and the dinner table where I was placed
with the flowers from the relatives, and they kept almost all week.
After some time the signal to go to dinner was heard and it was
time to try out the much-vaunted cuisine aboard the ships of the
Swedish America Line. But no thanks! The food was passable,
except for the potatoes, which would have been all right for pig
feed, and the eggs, which smelled more than anything else like
fermented herring.2 But Lord, what service! White tablecloths, of
course, and stainless-steel forks and knives, although the meat was
served on a dented and chipped enameled platter and the milk in a
pitcher of the same sort. No spoons, knives, or forks for serving
yourself potatoes, butter, or meat with, so that you had to grab with
your own fork and knife. Most of the time you had to serve
yourself, and considering that the air down there, two flights below
deck, was thick as gravy, you can understand that I did not much
appreciate the meal.
It was with a certain melancholy humor that I watched the people
from Småland, and the other fellows, as they stood there waiting
for the gong to sound, then rushed in like wild beasts and gulped
down food by the pound, as if they had made up their minds to get
the most for their money. In general, I managed to get through the
meals in five minutes, whenever I could make myself go down
there.
I spent most of the time on deck when the weather was calm, or
in my cabin, lying in my bunk when there was a strong headwind,
as happened on Friday and Saturday, during which days my
stomach was closer to my throat than I would ever have thought
possible. During those two days I was not even able to keep the
only food I had managed to get down: a quarter piece of hardtack.
But everything has its end, as they say, and so had the seasickness.
Otherwise, things were utterly dead and boring on board, no fun
and games, as we had been used to hearing about. Although there
were guys who had concertinas and played them, it was hard to get
any dancing going for lack of women. Mostly I whiled away my
time with one of my cabinmates, a Swedish American named
Eriksson, born in Södertälje, walking on the fore- and afterdeck,
while he told me of his varying fortunes and adventures in Mexico,
201
California, Alaska, South Africa, and on the French front during
the War. Then, of course, I studied the types on board, a motly
collection of people.
My evaluation of the accommodations on board in relation to the
fare was that everything in Third Class seemed to be Third- to
Sixth-Class. If I had not known that I would in any case have to go
through the formalities at Ellis Island, I would have arranged to
move over to the Second Class.
And now I will tell you how free men from a free country are
treated in "free" America. Already before docking in New York
harbor, we were met by a government boat which sent aboard an
American physician who made an inspection and a count of the
passengers in both the Second and Third Class. In this "inspec­tion,"
we walked, one by one, with our heads uncovered, past the
physician, who then examined our heads (for lice?) and our eyes.
When this was done, he left again with the sanitation boat and we
could proceed into New York harbor and moor at a pier there.
Before this we passed the Statue of Liberty, located on an island
in the river. At night it functions as a lighthouse. It is so big that
there is room for 15 men inside the torch, which she holds in her
hand, and a spiral staircase leads to the top of the torch.
At about the same time we passed there, we could see a cluster of
New York's tallest skyscrapers of 40 to 50 floors. I can hardly say
that I was especially impressed or surprised, as I had often seen
them in the movies. Nowadays it's easy to be a tourist. Just go to
the cinema!
It was on Monday afternoon that we arrived in N. Y.,, and the
First- and Second-Class passengers went ashore, but we had to stay
on board in suffocating heat and next morning go through a real
inferno. At 7:00 o'clock in the morning we ate the last and worst
breakfast of pork and potatoes. Thereafter we had to take our
belongings and go into the customs house, to where our trunks had
been taken, open our baggage, and let the customs officers search
for liquor.3 Well, that was rather simple. Then we were shoved
aboard a small, crowded ferry, where we literally stood packed like
sardines and the baggage made it all too evident that two objects
cannot occupy the same space.
After half an hour's trip we reached Ellis Island, [where there is]
a big building the size of Nordhem School, and after our trunks
were unloaded and we had to wait another half hour, we were
taken to a large hall with benches, where we had to sit and wait to
202
go through our baptism of fire. From there we had to go, ten at a
time, through a turnstile where a guy sat and stamped the passes
we had received on the boat. From the turnstile we entered the
physicians' room where we had to strip down to the knees and a
"doctor" listened with a double stethoscope to our lungs while
another looked through our hair (lice again!) and under our eyelids.
Another stamp on the immigrant card and a pass was given by the
last doctor.
After we had dressed again, we continued our "pilgrimage"
through a new turnstile, where the pass was turned in and the
immigrant card was again stamped up on the second floor, in a hall
the size of the Concert Hall, also furnished with benches like an
auditorium. There we were placed on the benches according to the
numbers on our cards. Then one by one we had to walk up to a
desk, show our passes, tell our ages, where we were headed, how
much money we had, etc. Likewise, our cards were stamped for the
fifth and final time.
Then we had to hurry down again to the ground floor to a kind of
hall where there was a ticket office, money exchange, and
representative of the Swedish America Line. I talked to the guy and
he said that the American government would not allow me to stay
in N . Y. but that I needed to buy a ticket to go directly from Ellis
Island to Fritz (as I had given his address on the questionnaire I had
filled out in Stockholm). Well, he had to cash my check, which Fritz
had sent to me, and I bought a ticket to Starbuck at the ticket office,
51 dollars. A ticket more than half a yard long!
There I had to reroute my baggage (the trunk) and after that I
went to the next hall, the waiting room for the ferry to N. Y. Central
Station and the other stations. In the passageway between the halls
you had to show the ticket to a guy who fastened an address card
onto your coat sleeve next to one that had already been put there.
"Pier No. 3" was printed on it and it gave the name of the station
destination.
After waiting many hours, we were again able to board the ferry,
where we waited another hour before starting. It is noteworthy that
during the whole "pilgrimage" you had to lug around your own
baggage, in and out of halls, put it down and pick it up every time
the line got moving, which happened a couple of hundred times.
This does not speak very well for American organization. Naturally
there should have been a baggage room to put your stuff in until the
formalities were taken care of.
203
But it was to get worse! The ferry we were on stopped at the piers
with the numbers on our address cards. So together with 300 others
I got off at Pier No. 3. From here we went through a nearly
400-yard-long passage, up a flight of stairs in a warehouse, then
walked in a long line across a narrow walkway under the eaves of a
warehouse.
My God, how I labored! The hatbox between my teeth, the fur
coat under my arm, and a heavy bag in each hand—and on top of
that, this 400-yard-long walkway! Well, the walkway ended at a gate
where the tickets were to be shown and we had to sit in a waiting
room which was everywhere black with soot and might be
compared to a Swedish tool shed, only a hundred times dirtier.
Finally, at 9:00 o'clock in the evening we were taken out to the
train, where we were shown our seats in old, out-of-service
Pullman cars, something in between our Third- and Second-Class
railway cars, that is, partly upholstered with plush (even though we
had paid for First Class). There is only one class in America. But
there was no one who did not heave a deep sigh of relief when able
to sit down after 14 hours of being shoved around. And the only
thing we had gotten to eat was sandwiches and coffee, if we were
lucky, or else their blasted ice cream, lemonade, or near-beer, all at
shameless prices.
Another fellow, who was headed for Chicago, and I managed to
delay a bit so that we were among the last to be shown our seats,
and as the car did not fill up with the last contingent, we had plenty
of room and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. For over an
hour we rushed at the speed of an express train through N. Y, of
which we now and then could see some tremendous illuminated
signs in the distance or some dark, desolate streets along the tracks.
Those tracks were so poorly laid that we now and then had to grab
hold of each other or an armrest to keep from being bounced
around like balls from one side to the other. It seemed like a miracle
to me that the car itself held together, the way it swayed and
corkscrewed, but I assumed it had a flexible construction in order
not to break down. In any case, we soon fell asleep in spite of the
rolling and slept rather peacefully while lying in the most
impossible positions most of the night.
When it came time to wash ourselves in the morning (I had never
seen so much soot on myself on all of my travels in Sweden put
together as I picked up between N. Y. and Chicago), we found there
was no sink, so we had to manage by wetting a handkerchief in
204
drinking water, soap our faces lightly, and "rinse" off with the
handkerchief. Lovely, isn't it? And this was repeated about every
other hour so as not to be mistaken for Negroes.
Otherwise we were quite well off as we were traveling in the last
car and could have the door open to the platform in back and watch
the landscape. The terrain between N. Y. and Chicago reminded me
a lot of Sörmland, although the lakes were missing and the hills
were only about 8 to 10 times bigger!4 Juicy, green grass in the
"valleys" and hills covered with brush and not much cultivated,
here and there a little farm, which seemed like a flyspeck on a
Carl] Larsson print.
Around 7:00 o'clock the train stopped for half an hour at
Salamanca, [New York,] where we could go in to the lunchroom
and get breakfast, sitting, as they do here, at the counter on high
stools. Beef and onions, potatoes, coffee, for one dollar, the
cheapest we had on the whole trip. Otherwise they had charged 25
cents for an orange, when it actually should have cost 5 cents, and
so on.
After that, our journey went as journeys go: time to wash up,
time to eat some sandwiches, bananas, or oranges, and then light a
pipe. Speaking of the pipe, tobacco is really extraordinarily cheap
here, exactly one-fifth of what it costs in Sweden.
Then it was evening again, and time to get ready to sleep. After
having traveled through a rain shower, which was more like a
waterfall, and with the horizon lit up by lightning every other
second, dusk turned to pitch-darkness, and when the train
attendants came to light the lamps, the gas pipe was out of order.
Makeshift kerosene lamps were mounted on the walls, just like on
the Orsa-Sveg Railway in 1916. Well, we turned in early, lowered
the light in the lamps, and slept peacefully until we arrived in
Chicago the next morning.
When we were told that we could not continue until evening, I
stepped out into town to go first of all to a barbershop for a haircut
and shave, and to be taken for a dollar and 25 cents, and then on to
a lunchroom to get me a real breakfast. The shave was expensive,
but the breakfast was so much the more reasonable: ham, 2 eggs,
potatoes, and a big cup of coffee for 20 cents, which in Swedish
money is 75 öre. Later in the day I had lunch, consisting of a big
dish of meat, cooked with dill, and vegetables and coffee for 15
cents = 56 öre. So Chicago must be a reasonable city where food is
concerned. And a lunchroom in almost every other building.
205
Then I forged on, up South State Street (one of the main streets in
Chicago), and came after a while to the Leader Warehouse, a place
like Nordiska Kompaniet where I went in to buy a towel, soap, and
shaving powder, and found to my surprise that I had to explain to
the girl who waited on me what a towel was.5 Then I realized that it
must have been the girl, and not I, who was a bit "slow," as the
other sales ladies understood me very well.
After that I looked around in the city for half an hour and then
walked back to the station, where I wrote letters and cards home to
Sweden, then sent a telegram to Jossie about possibly informing
Fritz of my arrival in St. Paul the next morning.
In the afternoon after the stores had closed and milling around
on the streets had picked up, I went out again for further
observations, still on South State Street. Just as on Östra Hamn­gatan,
no rush or bustle, as we were accustomed to hearing, but
rather people strolled in leisurely fashion, up and down, now and
then stopping at a corner to wait for the signal from a policeman to
cross the street.6
I looked in vain for beauty along the street (apparently they had
no "Lindberg Fund" or any municipal beautification council) and
the charm which at least momentarily should have revealed itself,
from the women, that is, was altogether absent.7 If there was any, it
was probably hidden under a heavy layer of cosmetics and powder,
sometimes so heavy that when a woman laughed, colored flakes of
it fell from her cheeks. Not even the eyes could be seen, as everyone
wore those horrible horn-rimmed, more or less darkly colored
eyeglasses, whether of ground glass or window glass, just for the
sake of fashion. They looked more like owls than human beings.
Well, at 7:00 in the evening, we who were traveling west got onto
a new train and for the first time had the kind of railway comfort
the ticket called for. Elegant, plush-upholstered Pullman cars with
narrow, clean white covers on the tops of the backrests, insulated
double windows and blinds, clean everywhere and good air
circulation, dining car, restroom, and so on, all of it first-class. The
car rode quietly and with a smooth rocking motion thanks to three
pairs of wheels at either end of the car, which cushioned the jolts
from the rail joints. Jugs of ice-cold water, but no glasses; instead
there were paper cups which were disposed of after using.
Slept well all the way and woke up just in time to get ready and
drink a cup of coffee before we reached St. Paul. Convinced that
Fritz would be down at the station, I watched curiously through the
206
window as the train pulled into the terminal, and indeed, there he
stood, looking just as curiously into the train. My knocking on the
window, when the train passed him, did not catch his attention
because of the double windows, but when I stepped off the train
and went toward him, he recognized me from some distance away;
he later claimed that if he had not known that it was I, he would
have mistaken me for Vigge. And very surprised I assume he was to
find I was so tall; he reaches up to about the level of my mouth.
Vigge's height is probably somewhere between Fritz's and mine.
Well, as there was an hour until the next train for Starbuck, Fritz
and I went out to get some breakfast and then returned to the
station. Fritz could go with me because he had taken some time off.
You can imagine we had a lot to talk about! Fritz is so much like me
in thought and outlook that I was very surprised. You know that I
was so small when he left that we could hardly have had anything
in common, and from his letters one could not very well get to
know his character. So I felt rather strange in the beginning, but it
didn't take many minutes before we were like the best of old
friends. Although the train ride took all day, the hours flew by like
minutes as we revived old memories and happily conversed.
The area around Starbuck is as much like Swedish nature as is
possible, cultivated Swedish nature, that is. There is not much
forest around here, but plenty of thickets and small lakes
surrounded by trees. Animals and plants are about the same, so
that almost everything is a reminder of Sweden, and it is not so
remarkable that there are so many Scandinavians in Minnesota.
Well, in the evening we got to Starbuck and Fritz and I went home
to his house, where Jossie, the children, and Grandmother
welcomed us. And now, as I end this letter, I have been here for 14
days and written a page now and then. My experiences and
impressions from Starbuck and our Swedish relatives here I will
write about in my next letter, because now I don't want to wait any
longer to send this. Finally, I will ask you to arrange for one of my
brothers or sisters, whoever has the opportunity to do so, to do me
the favor of sending me "Elfstrand's English Grammar" without
delay, and also, at the Exhibition, in the Household Department
near the Export Cafe, to order 12 dozen name tags for me with the
name A. Setterlind woven into the material; it is a new product for
Sweden, apparently not available in the U.S.A., and it costs 4:50
[crowns] for 12 dozen.8 It takes about three weeks for delivery. Send
them wound around a stiff cardboard and in a big, strong envelope.
207
Furthermore, when you send the grammar, which I would be
grateful to get right away, enclose a Swedish 25 öre coin, which Fritz
wants to get to complete his coin collection.
And now I end with the dearest of greetings to brothers and
sisters, relatives, and friends.
EDITOR'S NOTES
'From its establishment in 1915, the Swedish America Line operated the steamship
Stockholm in the Atlantic passenger traffic; it was joined in 1925 by the G r i p s h o l m.
"Vårt l a n d , " by J. L. Runeberg and F. Pacius is Finland's national anthem, but is
widely popular in Sweden as well.
Fermented herring, or surströmming, is considered a delicacy, particularly in
northern Sweden, but its strong, pungent odor is the subject of much humor.
'Bringing alcoholic beverages into the United States was illegal during the
Prohibition, between 1919 and 1933.
'Sörmland is a colloquial form for Södermanland province.
5Nordiska Kompaniet ("NK"), established in 1908, was, and still is, Stockholm's
best-known and most fashionable department store.
6Östra Hamngatan is one of the main shopping streets in Gothenburg.
'The Lindberg Fund was bequeathed to Gothenburg in the testament of the local
businessman, Charles Felix Lindberg, who died in 1909, for the beautification and
artistic adornment of the city.
"The reference here is to the Gothenburg Exhibition of 1923, celebrating the city's
three-hundredth anniversary. The use of name tags for clothing soon became
widespread in America as well.
208

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THE WAY TO AMERICA IN 1923:
A N EMIGRANT'S ACCOUNT
. ALFRED SETTERLIND
T r a n s l a t e d by
AINA BERGMAN BARTON
Sweden remained neutral during World War I, but its economy
was badly shaken by the European conflict and recovered only
slowly during the early 1920s. Hard times, combined with the end
of wartime obstacles, resulted once again in rising emigration to
America, which peaked sharply in 1923. In retrospect, the 24,948
Swedes who crossed the Atlantic that year comprised the last great
wave of Swedish emigration. Already the following year the
American quota system marked the end of an era.
Among those who made the great journey in 1923 was a young
chemical engineer, Alfred Setterlind, born in Gothenburg in 1895
and trained at the Chalmers Technical Institute. Finding opportuni­ties
limited at home, he went out to Starbuck, Minnesota, where
his eldest brother was living. Soon after he moved to Chicago
where he was employed by the Department of Health to deal with
problems of air pollution. There he died in 1967.
Alfred sent the letter that follows to his favorite sister, Olivia
("Vivi") in Gothenburg, from Starbuck on 11 June 1923, and it is of
particular interest regarding circumstances at the very end of the
Great Migration. Curiously, although that phase lies closest to us in
time and while there are those still living who shared the
experiences Setterlind described, it now seems generally less
familiar to us than Swedish emigration in earlier periods, particu­larly
during the almost legendary sailing-ship era.
It is noteworthy that Alfred, like most Swedish emigrants in his
time, sailed directly from Gothenburg to New York with the
Swedish America Line, which was established in 1915, rather than
via England, as formerly, and traveled in decent, even if rather
Spartan comfort. He gives a particularly detailed description of
travel accommodations by sea and rail, as well as of what he calls
the "baptism of fire" at Ellis Island.
198
Of equal interest at least are the attitudes Alfred's letter reveals,
which were surely characteristic for this last great wave of Swedish
emigrants. As a group they were better educated than their
predecessors, and Alfred was of course exceptional in this regard.
They were also a good deal more wordly-wise and liked to consider
themselves well familiar with America—not only through relatives
and friends, newspapers, magazines, and books, but also through
motion pictures—before they set forth across the Atlantic. They
regarded themselves as hard-headed realists, without illusions,
well aware that one could not "cut gold with a whittling knife" in
America, but still eager to seek better opportunities, while
often—perhaps most often—expecting some day to return home, as
many of them eventually did. The majority, like Alfred, would
nonetheless stay on and make new lives in the new land. Alfred's
letter meanwhile reflects something of the racy and blase literary
style of the 1920s.
We are indebted to Alfred's son, the eminent Swedish poet and
novelist Bo Setterlind of Strängnäs, for providing us with this
interesting letter, background details, and photographs.
[ED.]
I am now at last in Starbuck, as of three days ago, and I'm " a l l
right." Will now, as best I can, tell a bit about the journey; all I can
call to mind. You see, I did not get around to keeping a diary on
board, as there was either so much noise and commotion when the
weather was good that it was hard to think, or else the sea was so
choppy that it was hard to write.
Well, the weather, if I should start with that, was calm and
peaceful at the beginning of the journey. My brothers and sisters,
Charlotte, and some other relatives came down to the ship with
good things to eat and greetings in " p l e n t y . " The band played
"Vårt land ' ["'Our Land"]—ironic, don't you think?' And we
waved farewell to each other for half an hour, until the ship was out
of sight.
How did it feel to leave the old country? Well, it felt about the
same as if I had gone to Alingsås! Eight days was not an eternity to
travel and I thought if I didn't like it I'd return. Furthermore, in a
few years we will surely have regular airplane traffic between
Gothenburg and N. Y .
199
Well, I found my cabin, a small cubbyhole in the bow of the ship,
hardly bigger than a medium-sized clothes closet. In it were four
bunks, one above the other on each side, and between them a sink
like the ones on our Swedish sleeping cars. It was so narrow
between them that one of my cabinmates, who was broad-shouldered,
had to go in sideways, and no more than one at a time
could dress himself in the mornings. Well, I thought, the less space,
the better the fellowship, and hurried up on deck to have a last
glimpse of my native land as it disappeared out of sight.
I can't help it that it was with a certain feeling of relief, mixed
with bitterness, that I saw the last of the country that had caused
me so much disappointment. Although I had not harbored any
great sympathy for the U.S.A., and by no means have any greater
expectations of success here, still I know I can find work here if I
want to, which I can't do in Sweden. And it certainly is strange that
a country as large as Sweden, and with such rich natural resources,
is unable to feed a mere seven million people. She ought to realize
that she can't afford to lose 24 thousand of her best people every
year. Most of the people on board were around 20 to 30 years old,
strong and energetic folk from all the provinces of Sweden. Also
Alfred S e t t e r l i n d s h o r t l y before d e p a r t i n g for A m e r i c a in 1 9 2 3.
( C o u r t e s y of Bo Setterlind, Strängnäs.)
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quite a few Swedish Americans who had been home visiting but
were now returning. Their opinion was also that right now it is
completely impossible to live in Sweden unless you have income
from investments and the like.
I decorated the cabin and the dinner table where I was placed
with the flowers from the relatives, and they kept almost all week.
After some time the signal to go to dinner was heard and it was
time to try out the much-vaunted cuisine aboard the ships of the
Swedish America Line. But no thanks! The food was passable,
except for the potatoes, which would have been all right for pig
feed, and the eggs, which smelled more than anything else like
fermented herring.2 But Lord, what service! White tablecloths, of
course, and stainless-steel forks and knives, although the meat was
served on a dented and chipped enameled platter and the milk in a
pitcher of the same sort. No spoons, knives, or forks for serving
yourself potatoes, butter, or meat with, so that you had to grab with
your own fork and knife. Most of the time you had to serve
yourself, and considering that the air down there, two flights below
deck, was thick as gravy, you can understand that I did not much
appreciate the meal.
It was with a certain melancholy humor that I watched the people
from Småland, and the other fellows, as they stood there waiting
for the gong to sound, then rushed in like wild beasts and gulped
down food by the pound, as if they had made up their minds to get
the most for their money. In general, I managed to get through the
meals in five minutes, whenever I could make myself go down
there.
I spent most of the time on deck when the weather was calm, or
in my cabin, lying in my bunk when there was a strong headwind,
as happened on Friday and Saturday, during which days my
stomach was closer to my throat than I would ever have thought
possible. During those two days I was not even able to keep the
only food I had managed to get down: a quarter piece of hardtack.
But everything has its end, as they say, and so had the seasickness.
Otherwise, things were utterly dead and boring on board, no fun
and games, as we had been used to hearing about. Although there
were guys who had concertinas and played them, it was hard to get
any dancing going for lack of women. Mostly I whiled away my
time with one of my cabinmates, a Swedish American named
Eriksson, born in Södertälje, walking on the fore- and afterdeck,
while he told me of his varying fortunes and adventures in Mexico,
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California, Alaska, South Africa, and on the French front during
the War. Then, of course, I studied the types on board, a motly
collection of people.
My evaluation of the accommodations on board in relation to the
fare was that everything in Third Class seemed to be Third- to
Sixth-Class. If I had not known that I would in any case have to go
through the formalities at Ellis Island, I would have arranged to
move over to the Second Class.
And now I will tell you how free men from a free country are
treated in "free" America. Already before docking in New York
harbor, we were met by a government boat which sent aboard an
American physician who made an inspection and a count of the
passengers in both the Second and Third Class. In this "inspec­tion,"
we walked, one by one, with our heads uncovered, past the
physician, who then examined our heads (for lice?) and our eyes.
When this was done, he left again with the sanitation boat and we
could proceed into New York harbor and moor at a pier there.
Before this we passed the Statue of Liberty, located on an island
in the river. At night it functions as a lighthouse. It is so big that
there is room for 15 men inside the torch, which she holds in her
hand, and a spiral staircase leads to the top of the torch.
At about the same time we passed there, we could see a cluster of
New York's tallest skyscrapers of 40 to 50 floors. I can hardly say
that I was especially impressed or surprised, as I had often seen
them in the movies. Nowadays it's easy to be a tourist. Just go to
the cinema!
It was on Monday afternoon that we arrived in N. Y.,, and the
First- and Second-Class passengers went ashore, but we had to stay
on board in suffocating heat and next morning go through a real
inferno. At 7:00 o'clock in the morning we ate the last and worst
breakfast of pork and potatoes. Thereafter we had to take our
belongings and go into the customs house, to where our trunks had
been taken, open our baggage, and let the customs officers search
for liquor.3 Well, that was rather simple. Then we were shoved
aboard a small, crowded ferry, where we literally stood packed like
sardines and the baggage made it all too evident that two objects
cannot occupy the same space.
After half an hour's trip we reached Ellis Island, [where there is]
a big building the size of Nordhem School, and after our trunks
were unloaded and we had to wait another half hour, we were
taken to a large hall with benches, where we had to sit and wait to
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go through our baptism of fire. From there we had to go, ten at a
time, through a turnstile where a guy sat and stamped the passes
we had received on the boat. From the turnstile we entered the
physicians' room where we had to strip down to the knees and a
"doctor" listened with a double stethoscope to our lungs while
another looked through our hair (lice again!) and under our eyelids.
Another stamp on the immigrant card and a pass was given by the
last doctor.
After we had dressed again, we continued our "pilgrimage"
through a new turnstile, where the pass was turned in and the
immigrant card was again stamped up on the second floor, in a hall
the size of the Concert Hall, also furnished with benches like an
auditorium. There we were placed on the benches according to the
numbers on our cards. Then one by one we had to walk up to a
desk, show our passes, tell our ages, where we were headed, how
much money we had, etc. Likewise, our cards were stamped for the
fifth and final time.
Then we had to hurry down again to the ground floor to a kind of
hall where there was a ticket office, money exchange, and
representative of the Swedish America Line. I talked to the guy and
he said that the American government would not allow me to stay
in N . Y. but that I needed to buy a ticket to go directly from Ellis
Island to Fritz (as I had given his address on the questionnaire I had
filled out in Stockholm). Well, he had to cash my check, which Fritz
had sent to me, and I bought a ticket to Starbuck at the ticket office,
51 dollars. A ticket more than half a yard long!
There I had to reroute my baggage (the trunk) and after that I
went to the next hall, the waiting room for the ferry to N. Y. Central
Station and the other stations. In the passageway between the halls
you had to show the ticket to a guy who fastened an address card
onto your coat sleeve next to one that had already been put there.
"Pier No. 3" was printed on it and it gave the name of the station
destination.
After waiting many hours, we were again able to board the ferry,
where we waited another hour before starting. It is noteworthy that
during the whole "pilgrimage" you had to lug around your own
baggage, in and out of halls, put it down and pick it up every time
the line got moving, which happened a couple of hundred times.
This does not speak very well for American organization. Naturally
there should have been a baggage room to put your stuff in until the
formalities were taken care of.
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But it was to get worse! The ferry we were on stopped at the piers
with the numbers on our address cards. So together with 300 others
I got off at Pier No. 3. From here we went through a nearly
400-yard-long passage, up a flight of stairs in a warehouse, then
walked in a long line across a narrow walkway under the eaves of a
warehouse.
My God, how I labored! The hatbox between my teeth, the fur
coat under my arm, and a heavy bag in each hand—and on top of
that, this 400-yard-long walkway! Well, the walkway ended at a gate
where the tickets were to be shown and we had to sit in a waiting
room which was everywhere black with soot and might be
compared to a Swedish tool shed, only a hundred times dirtier.
Finally, at 9:00 o'clock in the evening we were taken out to the
train, where we were shown our seats in old, out-of-service
Pullman cars, something in between our Third- and Second-Class
railway cars, that is, partly upholstered with plush (even though we
had paid for First Class). There is only one class in America. But
there was no one who did not heave a deep sigh of relief when able
to sit down after 14 hours of being shoved around. And the only
thing we had gotten to eat was sandwiches and coffee, if we were
lucky, or else their blasted ice cream, lemonade, or near-beer, all at
shameless prices.
Another fellow, who was headed for Chicago, and I managed to
delay a bit so that we were among the last to be shown our seats,
and as the car did not fill up with the last contingent, we had plenty
of room and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. For over an
hour we rushed at the speed of an express train through N. Y, of
which we now and then could see some tremendous illuminated
signs in the distance or some dark, desolate streets along the tracks.
Those tracks were so poorly laid that we now and then had to grab
hold of each other or an armrest to keep from being bounced
around like balls from one side to the other. It seemed like a miracle
to me that the car itself held together, the way it swayed and
corkscrewed, but I assumed it had a flexible construction in order
not to break down. In any case, we soon fell asleep in spite of the
rolling and slept rather peacefully while lying in the most
impossible positions most of the night.
When it came time to wash ourselves in the morning (I had never
seen so much soot on myself on all of my travels in Sweden put
together as I picked up between N. Y. and Chicago), we found there
was no sink, so we had to manage by wetting a handkerchief in
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drinking water, soap our faces lightly, and "rinse" off with the
handkerchief. Lovely, isn't it? And this was repeated about every
other hour so as not to be mistaken for Negroes.
Otherwise we were quite well off as we were traveling in the last
car and could have the door open to the platform in back and watch
the landscape. The terrain between N. Y. and Chicago reminded me
a lot of Sörmland, although the lakes were missing and the hills
were only about 8 to 10 times bigger!4 Juicy, green grass in the
"valleys" and hills covered with brush and not much cultivated,
here and there a little farm, which seemed like a flyspeck on a
Carl] Larsson print.
Around 7:00 o'clock the train stopped for half an hour at
Salamanca, [New York,] where we could go in to the lunchroom
and get breakfast, sitting, as they do here, at the counter on high
stools. Beef and onions, potatoes, coffee, for one dollar, the
cheapest we had on the whole trip. Otherwise they had charged 25
cents for an orange, when it actually should have cost 5 cents, and
so on.
After that, our journey went as journeys go: time to wash up,
time to eat some sandwiches, bananas, or oranges, and then light a
pipe. Speaking of the pipe, tobacco is really extraordinarily cheap
here, exactly one-fifth of what it costs in Sweden.
Then it was evening again, and time to get ready to sleep. After
having traveled through a rain shower, which was more like a
waterfall, and with the horizon lit up by lightning every other
second, dusk turned to pitch-darkness, and when the train
attendants came to light the lamps, the gas pipe was out of order.
Makeshift kerosene lamps were mounted on the walls, just like on
the Orsa-Sveg Railway in 1916. Well, we turned in early, lowered
the light in the lamps, and slept peacefully until we arrived in
Chicago the next morning.
When we were told that we could not continue until evening, I
stepped out into town to go first of all to a barbershop for a haircut
and shave, and to be taken for a dollar and 25 cents, and then on to
a lunchroom to get me a real breakfast. The shave was expensive,
but the breakfast was so much the more reasonable: ham, 2 eggs,
potatoes, and a big cup of coffee for 20 cents, which in Swedish
money is 75 öre. Later in the day I had lunch, consisting of a big
dish of meat, cooked with dill, and vegetables and coffee for 15
cents = 56 öre. So Chicago must be a reasonable city where food is
concerned. And a lunchroom in almost every other building.
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Then I forged on, up South State Street (one of the main streets in
Chicago), and came after a while to the Leader Warehouse, a place
like Nordiska Kompaniet where I went in to buy a towel, soap, and
shaving powder, and found to my surprise that I had to explain to
the girl who waited on me what a towel was.5 Then I realized that it
must have been the girl, and not I, who was a bit "slow," as the
other sales ladies understood me very well.
After that I looked around in the city for half an hour and then
walked back to the station, where I wrote letters and cards home to
Sweden, then sent a telegram to Jossie about possibly informing
Fritz of my arrival in St. Paul the next morning.
In the afternoon after the stores had closed and milling around
on the streets had picked up, I went out again for further
observations, still on South State Street. Just as on Östra Hamn­gatan,
no rush or bustle, as we were accustomed to hearing, but
rather people strolled in leisurely fashion, up and down, now and
then stopping at a corner to wait for the signal from a policeman to
cross the street.6
I looked in vain for beauty along the street (apparently they had
no "Lindberg Fund" or any municipal beautification council) and
the charm which at least momentarily should have revealed itself,
from the women, that is, was altogether absent.7 If there was any, it
was probably hidden under a heavy layer of cosmetics and powder,
sometimes so heavy that when a woman laughed, colored flakes of
it fell from her cheeks. Not even the eyes could be seen, as everyone
wore those horrible horn-rimmed, more or less darkly colored
eyeglasses, whether of ground glass or window glass, just for the
sake of fashion. They looked more like owls than human beings.
Well, at 7:00 in the evening, we who were traveling west got onto
a new train and for the first time had the kind of railway comfort
the ticket called for. Elegant, plush-upholstered Pullman cars with
narrow, clean white covers on the tops of the backrests, insulated
double windows and blinds, clean everywhere and good air
circulation, dining car, restroom, and so on, all of it first-class. The
car rode quietly and with a smooth rocking motion thanks to three
pairs of wheels at either end of the car, which cushioned the jolts
from the rail joints. Jugs of ice-cold water, but no glasses; instead
there were paper cups which were disposed of after using.
Slept well all the way and woke up just in time to get ready and
drink a cup of coffee before we reached St. Paul. Convinced that
Fritz would be down at the station, I watched curiously through the
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window as the train pulled into the terminal, and indeed, there he
stood, looking just as curiously into the train. My knocking on the
window, when the train passed him, did not catch his attention
because of the double windows, but when I stepped off the train
and went toward him, he recognized me from some distance away;
he later claimed that if he had not known that it was I, he would
have mistaken me for Vigge. And very surprised I assume he was to
find I was so tall; he reaches up to about the level of my mouth.
Vigge's height is probably somewhere between Fritz's and mine.
Well, as there was an hour until the next train for Starbuck, Fritz
and I went out to get some breakfast and then returned to the
station. Fritz could go with me because he had taken some time off.
You can imagine we had a lot to talk about! Fritz is so much like me
in thought and outlook that I was very surprised. You know that I
was so small when he left that we could hardly have had anything
in common, and from his letters one could not very well get to
know his character. So I felt rather strange in the beginning, but it
didn't take many minutes before we were like the best of old
friends. Although the train ride took all day, the hours flew by like
minutes as we revived old memories and happily conversed.
The area around Starbuck is as much like Swedish nature as is
possible, cultivated Swedish nature, that is. There is not much
forest around here, but plenty of thickets and small lakes
surrounded by trees. Animals and plants are about the same, so
that almost everything is a reminder of Sweden, and it is not so
remarkable that there are so many Scandinavians in Minnesota.
Well, in the evening we got to Starbuck and Fritz and I went home
to his house, where Jossie, the children, and Grandmother
welcomed us. And now, as I end this letter, I have been here for 14
days and written a page now and then. My experiences and
impressions from Starbuck and our Swedish relatives here I will
write about in my next letter, because now I don't want to wait any
longer to send this. Finally, I will ask you to arrange for one of my
brothers or sisters, whoever has the opportunity to do so, to do me
the favor of sending me "Elfstrand's English Grammar" without
delay, and also, at the Exhibition, in the Household Department
near the Export Cafe, to order 12 dozen name tags for me with the
name A. Setterlind woven into the material; it is a new product for
Sweden, apparently not available in the U.S.A., and it costs 4:50
[crowns] for 12 dozen.8 It takes about three weeks for delivery. Send
them wound around a stiff cardboard and in a big, strong envelope.
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Furthermore, when you send the grammar, which I would be
grateful to get right away, enclose a Swedish 25 öre coin, which Fritz
wants to get to complete his coin collection.
And now I end with the dearest of greetings to brothers and
sisters, relatives, and friends.
EDITOR'S NOTES
'From its establishment in 1915, the Swedish America Line operated the steamship
Stockholm in the Atlantic passenger traffic; it was joined in 1925 by the G r i p s h o l m.
"Vårt l a n d , " by J. L. Runeberg and F. Pacius is Finland's national anthem, but is
widely popular in Sweden as well.
Fermented herring, or surströmming, is considered a delicacy, particularly in
northern Sweden, but its strong, pungent odor is the subject of much humor.
'Bringing alcoholic beverages into the United States was illegal during the
Prohibition, between 1919 and 1933.
'Sörmland is a colloquial form for Södermanland province.
5Nordiska Kompaniet ("NK"), established in 1908, was, and still is, Stockholm's
best-known and most fashionable department store.
6Östra Hamngatan is one of the main shopping streets in Gothenburg.
'The Lindberg Fund was bequeathed to Gothenburg in the testament of the local
businessman, Charles Felix Lindberg, who died in 1909, for the beautification and
artistic adornment of the city.
"The reference here is to the Gothenburg Exhibition of 1923, celebrating the city's
three-hundredth anniversary. The use of name tags for clothing soon became
widespread in America as well.
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